


Noble Maidens Fair

by Shewolf_of_highgarden



Series: Soft Thorns [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Flawed characters, Friendship, Maturing, Older Man/Younger Woman, Tags Are Hard, This was supposed to be light hearted, Tourneys, Unrealistic Expectations, arya is working through some stuff, emotions are hard, it got kind of angsty, this fic spiraled out of my control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 03:30:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15209939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shewolf_of_highgarden/pseuds/Shewolf_of_highgarden
Summary: Arya meets Brienne of Tarth at a tourney in High Garden, it brings out mixed emotions in her.A follow up to Beneath the Weirwood Tree





	Noble Maidens Fair

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. As mentioned above this is tagged Older man/younger woman. This takes place about a year after Beneath the Weirdwood Tree, so Arya is 18 while Willas is 28.  
> 2\. There are some plot holes here, but they do not matter too much to the story  
> 3\. Thank you for reading!

When Arya first heard of Brienne of Tarth she did not believe it. A woman sign up to ride in a tourney? Unheard of. Arya had spent a decent portion of her youth begging to be a squire to some of the knights who came to Kings Landing and most laughed at her, thinking she was joking. Some looked at her in pity while shaking their heads. Some glared and told her to stop wasting their time. No woman had ever been allowed to join the lists, not even the Mormont girls or the Sand Snakes. So when Garlan told her over breakfast that Brienne the Beauty would ride, she thought he was joking. When she bothered Loras for information, he was a knight after all, he assured her that Brienne was indeed real.

 

The way Loras had said the woman’s name made Arya half like the woman without even meeting her. Make no mistake Arya had found that Loras had grown on her with the rest of Tyrells. Loras was always fun at a feast with his commentary, especially if you added Prince Renly to the event. At the same time anyone who put Loras in his place now and then was good in Arya’s mind. She liked Loras, she did, but the man thought so highly of himself that she was unsure how he managed to put on a helm with how big his head was sometimes.

 

As excited as Arya was to meet the female knight it was no until the first day of the tourney she was actually able to meet her. The tourney was in honor of the start of the harvest season, so the lords and ladies of the Reach were flooding into High Garden. On top of that Margaery had decided she wanted to show Joffrey the harvest celebrations this year, so the crowned Prince and Princess made their way down to the Reach along with a royal caravan that Arya thought was rather large for just two people, even if said people were the future rulers of Westeros. A silver lining to all of this was that the newly wed Bran and Shireen had decided to come to High Garden to see the festivities. She almost did not know who she looked forward to seeing more, her truest friend or her little brother.

 

As happy as she was to see them she had little time to actually spend with Bran and Shireen when they had first arrived. As future Lady of High Garden it was her job to help Alerie oversee the preparations. That meant that most of her days were spent with High Garden’s steward, Daeron Cuy, making sure that everyone staying as a guest in High Garden was fed and comfortable. Between taking care of demands and making sure that the knights who were not staying in the keep were in the right place. She was surprised how many of the men did not seem to understand that they needed to set up their tents near the other tents not where ever they pleased.

 

On top of that she had to oversee what the servants were making for the feast as well as making sure the great hall was decorated in a way that Olenna would approve of. Her good mother helped, but it was clear that this festival was mainly Arya’s responsibility. She had a feeling that Olenna was to blame for that. She knew that the old woman had nagged Alerie until the woman agreed to go stay with her husband in the capital. “The girl needs to learn to do this, you will not be around to do help her forever.” Olenna had gripped. Part of her wondered if Olenna was trying to drive her mad by making you do this.

 

Willas had laughed when she told him. “She is actually complementing you. Mother told me that when she first married father grandmother would not let her help with the festival. Grandmother would not allow you to be anywhere near the preparations if she thought you were going to ruin it.”

 

Arya made a noncommittal noise in response.

 

“Trust me, I know my grandmother. You are doing fine, you need to relax. I can help with that, if you’d like.”

 

Arya quirked a brow, “Oh? Do you fancy a game of cyvasse?”

 

Willas chuckled before showing her that cyvasse was not what he had on his mind. She had to give it to him, however, she certainly did not think about Olenna or Alerie Tyrell for the rest of the night.

 

The next morning Arya broke her fast with Bran and Shireen while Willas went with his father to talk to some of their banner men. It was nice to actually get to sit and speak with them after three days of being able to speak to them at dinner and in between her duties. She had to admit as much as she missed her brother, she missed speaking to Shireen the most. They had become fast friends after being introduced and had spent most of their time together. She had understood why Sansa and Margaery loved to share their beds with others when she and Shireen shared. As much as she liked talking to Willas at their night, she found she missed her late night talks with Shireen.  

 

After eating Arya asked if Shireen wanted to get dressed in Arya’s room before heading for the tourney grounds and was happy when her friend agreed, as Arya knew she would. With Bran preparing to ride in the tourney there would be few people Shireen would actually want to be around. Courtly ladies still made Shireen nervous, not that Arya could blame her.

 

“So,’ Arya started as her maid worked on braiding her hair, ‘ I need a favor from you, Shireen.”

 

“Oh?” the other girl asked.

 

“I want you to come with me to meet the Maid of Tarth. She is ride in the tourney.”

 

“I’ve heard the men grumbling about her. I am surprised you have not gone to meet her already.”

 

“I’ve been busy,’ Arya said with a sigh, ‘I have not greeted every knight to enter High Garden, there are too many and too much to do. But I want to meet the Maid before she rides.”

 

“Do you plan to give her you favor?”

 

Arya was surprised, she had not actually thought of that. “Should I? I mean I don’t even know her.”

 

“Is that not why you want to meet her? I’d bet you that you are going to like her. She is living your dream. Just take something with you and if you do not like her do not give it to her.” Shireen said.

 

Arya nodded. A part of her was nervous to meet this woman. After hearing about her Arya had made her own version of the Maid of Tarth in her head. In her mind the woman was the perfect knight, the opposite of knights such as the Hound or the King Slayer. She would be valiant and kind. More importantly she would be amazing on a horse and with a lance. She would skilled and valiant and she would save maidens and protect the weak. A person who would want to spar with Arya because they were both women, so they had no excuse. A person who would be Arya’s friend.

 

 She had made up this woman in her mind, forgetting that Brienne was an actual person. A person who might not be as valiant as she thought, a person who was poor rider and poor with a lance. A person who might scoff at Arya and laugh at Needle. Someone who could be snide and cruel and wanted nothing to do with some lording’s little wife. She had told herself a tale and she was not sure she wanted the tale to end.

 

“Your Father would kill over if he could see you.” Shireen says with a giggle after Arya’s maid has finished lacing up her gown.

 

“He would only have himself to blame, he is the one who sent me down here.” Arya replied, though she did have to agree.

 

Unlike her northern dresses that covered everything, this gown was in the style of the Reach. It was made of green summer silk with the plunging neckline that was well known in the South, along with sleeves that were split down the length of her arm to her wrist giving more the illusion of sleeves than actual sleeves. The skirt pooled around her, lines of golden roses sewn all around the skirt from where it started to where it ended, the gold thread glimmering in the sunlight. Her father might approve of her dress, but she was sure he would be comforted knowing that most of the time Arya wore her riding leathers of plain gowns that she did not have to worry about messing up.

 

Olenna seemed not to care how Arya dressed on the day to day as long as there were no visiting lords or ladies, even then it depended on who it was. For that Arya was grateful to the old woman, Olenna knew when to pick her battles and Arya’s clothing was not a battle she planned to fight. When Alerie bemoaned her good daughter’s fashion choices Olenna usually told her to let it go. “He did not wed the girl for her to stand there and look pretty, as long as she does her duty well I care little for what she wears.’ Olenna had said ‘Besides Willas has shown no adverse opinion of how she dresses, so as long as she wears clothing that befits the Lady of the Reach when we have company let the girl wear what she wants.”

 

As Shireen’s maid finished lacing up her mistress’s more conservative gown, Arya riffled around to find a favor. She tried to think about what Sansa gave Harrold at the tourney that was held in celebration of Margaery and Joffrey’s wedding. She had given him a handkerchief she had embroidered, but Arya was hopeless when it came to needle and thread. She rummaged around the little boxes on the table that held her looking glass until she finally found something.

 

She had found an old handkerchief that Sansa had embroidered for her for her ten and third name day. It was rather simple, a direwolf’s head surrounded by blue roses. It was old and she had newer ones, but this was one she loved. This was one that she had held when she was still Arya Underfoot and she dreamt of being a water dancer in Bravoos. By giving the maid of Tarth a favor, Arya felt like a part of her was riding too and it was Arya Stark she wanted riding with Brienne. She wanted that little girl that was still somewhere inside of her to be able to ride with the woman.

 

“Ready?” Arya asked as she turned around.

 

Shireen gave an affirmative before looping her arm through Arya’s. Together they made their way out of the keep and towards the back where the tents were all clustered together. As they got closer Arya could start to make out the sounds of the camp. Before they reached the tents Arya stopped and looked at Shireen.

 

“Shireen, do you know the sigil for Tarth?”

 

“Yellow sun on a checkered background of red and blue. Hopefully she is flying her banner.”

 

“If not we can always ask, I’m sure it’s not going to be too hard to find out which tent is hers.” At least Arya hoped so.

 

The camp, as Arya could have guessed, was chaotic. Men were scrambling to prepare, some of the camp followers were trying to sell wares while squires ran in and out of tents trying to prepare their knight. Part of Arya hated it, the noise and smell reminding her of Kings Landing, on the other hand it reminded her of Flea Bottom which had to be the only good place in King’s Landing other than the docks. There was so much to see and explore, though at the moment she snapped at herself to focus.

 

Luckily for them many of the tents had their banners flying. She could see the colors for Beesbury and Florent as well as High Tower. She was sure that she could find the two branches of Fossway at the two different ends of the camp, the houses seemed to be on friendly terms, but feuds could run deep. She saw Dickon Tarly’s newest squire, some Caswell boy, rush into a green tent looking like he was about to pass out.

 

The two ladies got some strange looks as they made their way through the camp, some people going about their business and some taking the time to bow to them. Though they kept going further into the camp Arya could not see the Tarth banner.

 

“Do you see it?” Arya asked side stepping a man selling little figurines of the warrior. Arya hoped for the man’s sake no one told Olenna, the woman was all details and everyone from knights to merchants to camp followers had a place they were supposed to be. Merchants were not supposed to be here, even if they were offering little trinkets.

 

“No, not yet. We could always ask someone.” Shireen said peering around. This all would have been a lot easier had Margaery not dragged Joffrey down to the Reach. Had it only been Renly who came with his retinue it would have been easier. Renly visited High Garden often, even if his betrothal with Margaery fell through, and Arya had grown better at recognizing houses from the Stormlands. Houses from the westerlands and the crownlands, however, were a different story.

 

After a minute or two more of aimless wandering before coming to the conclusion that they would need to ask someone and hope that they knew. Even in an encampment of this size Arya would be surprised if no one could point them in the right direction. A woman knight is not something one simply ignores. They decided to circle back and ask the merchant they had seen.

 

He did in fact know where Brienne’s tent was and after giving him a gold dragon he offered to take them there. Arya thought as they walked towards the tent that she did not make a great Tyrell. Had she been Margaery or Willas she would have mentioned that he was selling his wares in the wrong spot and he would have taken them to Brienne out of fear of her going to her lord husband and telling him of the man’s wrong doing. Though she did have to admit she must have some cunning if she thought of such a plan even if she thinks of it afterward. That thought is not as comforting as it first was. She can hear Arya Underfoot telling her that that was stupid, who cared where the man sold his little figurines? Gold is a better trade than threats anyway.

 

The man takes them to a tent on the outskirts of the encampment. It is planner than the ones the actual nobility has been using and looks more like it would belong to a hedge knight. The banner of house Tarth is the only thing that really shows it is a tent that belongs to someone of noble birth.

 

Arya thanked the man and allowed him to take his leave. She took a few steps towards the tent before stopping abruptly, making Shireen jerk back and look at her.

 

“What’s wrong?” Shireen asked.

 

Arya chewed her lip, trying to think of a way to put her worry into words that did not make her sound like a child. She was not ready for her tale to end, to find out that the Maid of Tarth was not what she had been imagining.  That’s stupid, she tells herself, she is not some child. She’s a woman grown, wedded and bedded, and acting Lady of the Reach. More importantly she is a direwolf and nothing scares them. A direwolf would walk into that tent whether the woman turned out to be true or not.

 

 _I’m a direwolf, I fear nothing_ she told herself.

 

Tossing her soldiers back and standing a bit straighter she turned and gave Shireen a bright smile. “Nothing is wrong, Shireen, come on.”

 

Shireen allowed Arya to drag her forward, but did not look terribly convinced. Arya ignored that.

 

She was so wrapped up in convincing herself that everything would be okay that she did not actually think to announce herself before walking into the tent. Instead she ended up pushing the tent flap open as she called out “hello?” startling the person inside.

 

At first glance Arya was disappointed. Whomever was calling themselves the maid of Tarth did no look much like a maid. They were tall, about a head taller than Arya at least, with straw blonde hair cropped short. When Brienne whipped around Arya realized she was wrong, the knight was a woman.

 

“So sorry for the intrusion, Lady Brienne, we did not mean to startle you.” Shireen said to Brienne while sending a glare towards Arya.

 

Arya had not been sure what to expect physically from the woman, but now seeing her she decided that Brienne was in fact perfect. Seeing her in riding armor with a long sword on her hip, Brienne could have been right out of one of Old Nan’s stories. She did not look the ladies from the stories, she looked more like Arya or Shireen. Not in a way they looked related, but more in the way of a spiritual kinship, Brienne was no physical beauty but Arya found she was happier for it. She, herself, was no beauty. The woman’s eyes, however, were amazing. A deep rich blue that half reminded her of her mother’s Tully blue eyes.

 

“Arya…” Shireen said, nudging her. Arya snapped herself out of her thoughts long enough to notice that Brienne was looking distinctly uncomfortable.

 

She had opened her mouth to introduce herself politely and tell Brienne how much she admired her, but all that came out was a breathy “You’re amazing.”

 

“Forgive her, my lady, please.’ Shireen said, looking slightly put out, ‘Lady Arya has been very excited about meeting you, it appears the excitement has taken her good sense and manners. I am Shireen Baratheon.”

 

Brienne blushed and did a quick bow, “No forgiveness is needed, Lady Shireen. Please call me Brienne.”

 

“Brienne,” Shireen agreed with a smile before nudging Arya again mouthing the word ‘favor’ at her.

 

“Brienne,’ she started trying her best to think of how Sansa would ask this, ‘I wonder if I might offer you my favor.”

 

The older woman looked confused at this, but not unhappy as Arya had feared. “Surely you have some other young knight who you would rather give it to, my lady.”

 

“Arya.’ She said abruptly, ‘just call me Arya, I’m not much of a lady either. And anyways I have no one else I would rather give my favor to. I admire you greatly, Brienne. I wanted to be a knight as well as a child, but I became a water dancer instead and they don’t get to ride in tourneys.”

 

Brienne looked confused at the water dancing part, so Arya hastened to explain, “It’s a form of braavosi sword play. My brother had a braavosi sword made for me when I was a girl and my father hired a man to teach me.”

 

“Your father sounds like a good man,’ Brienne smiled, ‘I’m afraid, Arya, I do not recognize your name. Who is your father?”

 

“Lord Eddard Stark. Does your sword have a name? All of the best swords have names” Arya asked, anxious to speak more about the knight business and less about family relations.

 

Brienne’s eyes widened slightly at the Lord Hand’s name, but the woman recovered quickly. Holding up the sword she said, “It’s called sapphire, after the island where my ancestral keep sits. Tarth is known as the isle of sapphires.”

 

“Mine’s name is needle!”

 

“A fine name.” Brienne said with a smile. The woman opened her mouth to say something else when a boy ran into the tent.

 

“Ser! It’s time to start heading to the yard.” The boy said looking breathless, so wrapped up in his duties the he did not even notice the two other ladies in the tent.

 

“Thank you, Ben. I’ll be there shortly,’ Lady Brienne told the boy. When he left she turned back to the two women in front of her.

 

Arya quickly held out the handkerchief she had been clutching, almost shoving it in Brienne’s face, ‘Please accept this favor, Brienne. I know it’s old and rather on the plain side but-“

 

“I will happily accept your favor, Arya. I’m sure it will give me good luck coming from you.”

Arya gave the woman a bright smile, “Thank you Brienne, I look forward to seeing you win.”

 

With that Arya and Shireen gave their farewells to the lady knight and started towards the tourney stands. Arya did not turn around, so she missed getting to see the knights smile when she caught Arya’s squealed “Isn’t she amazing, Shireen?”

*** * ***

 

Arya reached the stands on her own, having decided to let Shireen go give Bran a favor in private. As much as she was happy for the two of them, she was still uncomfortable seeing her little brother kiss her best friend. It felt wrong. She had, however, stopped by where the merchants had set up to buy a loaf of sweet bread before making her way to the stands. The servants could be sent for food and drink at any time, but Arya still enjoyed walking the hastily put up tents and stalls.

 

It was a bit harder, she had to admit, to walk around as she pleased as Lady Tyrell. When she came near people bowed and did not look her in the eye. Arya Underfoot had made friends with anyone, and loved meeting new people. Now smallfolk were a bit more mistrusting of her. They may have been loyal to House Tyrell, but that did not mean they did not know the havoc the nobility to bring to their lives. Arya Underfoot had little power to do so, only being a lord’s youngest daughter but a lord’s wife was a different being all together. She tried not to think about how that made her feel a little lonely.

 

When she finally made it to the stands she found the rest of house Tyrell already made comfortable on the top stand along with the prince and princess. A golden canopy had been set up for the higher nobility to sit and watch the tourney, with the hand maidens and valets sitting or standing on the outside of the canopy. Those who were of especially high standing might be allowed to sit under it along with the family. Arya knew that at least one of Margaery’s hand maidens would sit with them, and Arya would be expected to have one with her as well. At one cupbearer would join them as well. It was more extravagant than most of the top stands that noble houses set up for tourneys, but with all of the Tyrells in High Garden for once and Cersei Lannister’s son in attendance along with Renly it could have been much worse.

 

Arya handed her treats to a nearby servants as she picked up her skirt to walk up the steps. She smiled at Garlan when her good brother materialized the top of the steps to offer her a hand.

 

“We were starting to think you got lost.” Garlan said with a laugh as he released her hand.

 

“All I had to do was go towards the large golden cloth.” Arya said with a snort as took the food back from the servant and took her seat next to Willas. Settees and cushioned benches had been set up under the canopy, allowing the family to lounge comfortably as they observed the jousts.

 

“Where have you been?” Willas asked glancing down at her muddied hem in amusement.

 

“Went to meet the Maid of Tarth with Shireen.”

 

“Ah, should have guessed. Did she live up to your expectations, love?”

 

“She was even better. I ended up giving her my favor.”

 

“Loras will be crushed.” Renly said with a laugh.

 

“Loras has so much confidence in himself he has very little need of favors.” Arya said.

 

“Loras is the best knight in the Seven Kingdoms,’ Margaery said, ‘He is Leo Longthorn reborn.”

 

Arya could not bring herself to tease Margaery over her fervent belief in her elder brother. As much as she saw herself different from those in the Reach, Margaery and Loras reminded her too much of her and Jon. She understood having unbreakable faith in your brother, the knowledge that they could do whatever they pleased simply because they were themselves.

 

“I’ll bet you five golden dragons that Brienne of Tarth wins the tourney.” Arya said.

 

Margaery smiled in return, ‘I’ll see that bet.”

 

“I’ll put five dragons on Russell Merryweather.” Garlan said.

 

Everyone turned to look at him oddly. Arya was sure the man had gone mad. Russell Merryweather was a good rider, true, but he seemed too timid to be good on the field. It did not help that the boy did not have much experience with tourneys and was known to be a poor squire.

 

“Do you know something we do not know, Garlan? Has the boy suddenly been blessed by the warrior?” Willas asked.

 

“Ha ha, no. ‘Garlan said dryly, ‘I just think he could have a chance this time.”

 

“If our dear sweet brother wants to lose his coin so easily, then let him.” Arya said to Willas.

 

“Are we taking bets then?” Joffrey asked he finished climbing the stairs to the stand.

 

Arya wanted to groan, her good mood slightly lessened by seeing Joffrey. They might both be grown now, but somehow Joffrey never changed. He was still cruel and thought the world revolved around him. She may joke about Loras’s arrogance, but he had nothing on the ego that came with Joffrey.

 

“Yes,’ Margaery said giving him a sweet smile, ‘would you like to make a bet, my prince?”

 

“What are we betting?” Joffrey said, taking a seat next to Margaery. 

 

“Five gold dragons.”

 

“That’s all? ‘ Joffrey scoffed, ‘Are we to bet as if we are children?”

 

“It’s simply for fun, nephew, no need for grand bets.” Renly said as he took a sip of his wine.

 

Arya tuned out their bickering. She was in no mood to deal with Joffrey. Most of the time she did her best simply to avoid him. It was better than fighting with him only to have his mother pull rank. The stupid prince could not even defend himself. Instead she tore the sweet bread in half and silently offered one of the halves to Willas, which he took. She had found her husband had a sweet tooth, which was somehow bigger than Sansa’s. Typically Arya was possessive over food, a trait that came from growing up with six other children. At the Red Keep she only had to share with Father and Sansa, but when the family was all together she found she had to protect her food, especially from Rickon.

 

Today, however, was a bit different. Willas was not fond of tourneys after the first and last time he rode in the lists. A week before the tourney he told her about the incident. Late at night, after all the candles had been blown out and the servants had left he told of his excitement. Of his dreams of glory, of how he was going to crown some Fossway girl his Queen of Love and Beauty, he told her of the pain. He told her of waking up to find he could not use one leg, of the moons upon moons it had taken him to recover. He told her about how he blamed Oberyn Martell until he didn’t, until he was older and saw what had truly happened. Tourneys reminded Willas of a life that was and a life that could have been, both of which he did not want to think about.

 

“Mayhaps it was for the best, though,’ he had whispered to her, ‘after all had I not fallen I might not have gotten you.”

 

Arya nibbled her bread as Willas read some tome he dragged out to the stands and Joffrey continued to argue that the stakes of the bets should be raised. She was starting to agree with him to raise the stakes. If she won Joffrey would never speak in her presence again, if he won she would never be in his presence again. Both were good outcomes in Arya’s opinion.

 

“What is that?” Joffrey asked, his voice full of disgust. Arya had been focused on speaking to newly arrived Shireen and Leonette that she had not even noticed that the match between Alyn Ambrose and Gerald Gower. She did not have to watch to who would win. Ser Gerald might be on the older side, but Arya remembered him from those who traveled with Stannis to the capital. The man was a skilled knight and excellent on a horse. Alyn on the other hand was good on a horse, but his inexperience was his down fall. Putting him up against a seasoned knight meant the boy had no chance.

 

Making her way on to the tourney ground was the Lady Brienne. Upon her horse with sword and shield in hand she looked splendid.

 

“The Maid of Tarth,’ Renly answered, ‘Arya has five gold dragons that says the maid wins the tourney.”

 

Joffrey turned to her then with a cold smile, “You think that is going to win? Her? Against Lothar Mallery or Beric Dondarrion? Against the _Hound_? By the Gods, girl, mother always said you were stupid, but I never realized the extent.”

 

Everyone under the canopy had gone silent. Olenna stopped nagging at her cupbearer, Mace Tyrell stopped mid chew on a piece of pigeon pie, Margaery was no longer giggling with Eleanor, and Willas had looked up from his book his eyes narrowing.

 

“At least Lady Brienne has the courage to ride,’ Arya said with narrowed eyes.

 

That earned her a cold glare from the prince. “Are you calling me a coward?”

 

“No, I’m calling her brave.”

 

Joffrey stared at her a moment before letting out a sarcastic laugh, “You brother rides in this tourney, does he not? How bad must he be for his own sister to root for something like that?”

 

“You leave Bran out of this,’ Arya snarled, ‘my brother is a great knight, he is a better knight than most can hope to be.”

 

Before Joffrey could take insult, Margaery jumped into the conversation, “Look! They are starting.”

 

Arya turned her attention from Joffrey to the tourney ground. Brienne was going against Robert Tudbury. Arya held her breath as they made their first pass, Tubury’s lance hit the edge of the maid’s shield, but the woman remained seated. The second pass saw Tudbury’s lance hit closer to the intended target and the woman wobbled. Arya was starting to worry that all was lost until the third pass. Tudbury leant over move in an attempt for his aim to strike true, Brienne took advantage of his position and hit him in the breastplate instead of his shield, unseating the man. The crowd murmured and a few clapped, clearly shocked. Arya, on the other hand knew exactly how to react, so as the woman dismounted her horse to help her opponent off of the ground.

 

Arya lept to her feet and cheered, relishing in the red growing on the prince’s cheeks. Some who had been unsure of how to react too their cue from Arya and cheered the lady, though perhaps not as loudly. Many in the crowd may not approve of a woman knight, but if the future lady of High Garden, daughter of the Hand, and good sister to the future queen showed her approval, then you would be wise to do so as well. Arya did not care who joined her in the cheering, but others would take note of who did and did not agree with Arya and try to figure out how to use it to their advantage.

 

As Brienne left the field Arya sat down, her cheeks pink with excitement and her smile wide. She did not even rise to the bait when Joffrey made some comment about luck. She was too happy to care about what anyone else thought at the moment. The rest of the first day of the tourney passed rather quickly. Arya was not the only one to see triumph that day much to Margaery’s, and every other Tyrell’s, pleasure Willas won his round. Bran, much to Arya and Shireen’s pleasure, won his as well.

 

*** * ***

 

The rest of the week went much the same way as the first day of tourney. Loras continued to win along with Bran and Brienne, and unfortunately, the Hound. Other than the Hound continuing to win, however, the tourney had been successful so far. The feasts had been boisterous and plentiful.

 

The last day of tourney is a bit less jovial than the last few days. Arya cannot help, but wonder if it is just her who is tense. She has been able to spend more time with Brienne, making sure she is invited to feast and giving a seat of honor. The more time she spent with the woman the more she realizes that Brienne is not the story she had created in her head, but Arya is not heartbroken about that. She likes the real Brienne. Brienne who is more than just a warrior. Brienne blushes when Renly smiles at her, Brienne has a love of the same romantic tales of Sansa, Brienne does not laugh at Needle but admires the sword.

 

Arya liked Brienne, really liked her. A small part of Arya she cannot name, though, almost hates her.

 

“Sometimes I think I hate Lady Brienne a little …do you think that makes me wicked?” Arya asked softly one night, when it was dark and all she could hear was Willas’s soft breathing beside her.

 

Willas was quiet for so long after she asked that Arya wondered if he was already asleep or perhaps appalled that Arya could say such a thing about a woman she was starting to call a friend. He was quiet for so long that when he spoke, he made her jump a little.

 

“I love Loras…but when he rides in these tourneys sometimes I hate him a little. He is living a life that I thought I would be living, when I look at him I see a life that should have been mine.”

 

Arya turned to look at him startled, and could see him staring at the canopy above them.

 

“I should think it is much the same for you, Arya. Lady Brienne is living a life you had hoped to live, she is something you were never allowed to be. I do not think you hate her, I think you hate how unfair it is that she should be able to be a knight and ride in a tourney, but not you.” He said.

 

That took Arya aback. Perhaps Willas had the right of it. On the whole Arya really did like Brienne, liked her kindness and her courage. She liked the way Brienne talked to Shireen without staring at Dragon scale, liked the way she indulged Bran with stories, the way she spoke to Willas like he was a man and not just someone who was to be indulged because of his leg. At the same time Brienne was doing something Arya could only dream of.

 

“So what do I do?”  

 

“First you admit it to yourself. Admit you are mad or jealous or what have you and go from there.”

 

Arya struggled with herself a moment before she gave up the fight. As much as she liked the lady knight she was jealous of her. Brienne’s father allowed her to pick up lances where Arya’s had allowed water dancing but nothing further. Brienne got to ride her large dappled dustier where Arya would have no need of one. Brienne wore mail where Arya had had to fight just to be allowed to wear leather, Brienne’s father was not forcing her to marry…but Brienne had had to fight too hadn’t she? Even as she beat man after man after man people still scoffed at her. Lords and ladies gave her tight smiles to her face, but called her names behind her back. She saw the way that Brienne looked at Prince Renly, everyone did, and it was made all the worse by the way the prince would be fickle with his affection. Brienne wanted more to be a knight, she wanted to love and be loved in return. She wanted to be accepted.

 

Arya knew a thing or two about being accepted. It is her husband and father who save her from having people laugh right in her face when they see her in leathers with Needle. It’s her husband’s grandmother who stops people in the Reach from disrespecting her to her face and being too loud when they do it behind her back. Arya is no fool, just because they say nothing to her face does not mean they say nothing behind her back. Arya has worked for every piece of begrudging respect, has had to fight a million battles in order to have the people respect her for who she is and not who she is related to. It had helped that she had grown to find people like her, she had a pack. She had a feeling that Brienne did not.

 

That thought made her feel worse about her earlier feelings. Arya in many respects had gotten lucky. Her father did not snap Needle, but encouraged Arya. She had grown up in the South, but she had still known the Mormont girls who were fathered by bears and Meera with her spear and Wylla with her green hair and sharp tongue. In the capital she had met Shireen who would never judge and only wanted kindness in return. After coming to High Garden she had met Oberyn Martell’s daughters when the viper came to visit Willas on his way to capital. She had formed relationships with Nymeria, the intimating Obara, and Elia who had sworn to one day be the greatest knight known as Lady Lance. Arya may have had to deal with people who would mock and shame her, but she had also found people who would accept and understand her.

 

It was unfair of her to dislike Brienne for something she could not help. Brienne had done nothing to her except to show kindness and acceptance and Arya needed to return the favor.

 

“What made you so wise?” Arya asks snuggling into his side.

 

“I’ve had a lot of practice in dealing with jealousy and anger,’ after a pause he adds, ‘also I am simply brilliant.”

 

*** * ***

Brienne loses the tourney.

 

She does well, she almost wins, but the damned Hound gets the best of her. Brienne heads off of the field as Clegane does his victory lap. Arya’s eyes follow the lady knight, even when she is out of sight Arya looks in her direction.

 

She would be lying if she said she was not disappointed. She would be lying if she did not admit that she wanted punch stupid Joffrey in his stupid face as she passed him his winnings. She would be lying if she did not admit to rolling her eyes when the Hound gives the wreath of golden roses to Joffrey to let him crown Margaery. The man should have chosen someone, anyone. Why did Joffrey deserve to crown anyone when he did nothing?

 

As soon as Margaery is crowned and the coin purse has been handed over Arya heads towards the pavilions, determined to find Brienne. Half way there she realized that she was not exactly sure what she wanted to say. She kept walking, though, and the further she walked the more irritated she became as Joffrey’s face flashed through her mind. Brienne was supposed to win. She was supposed to show all of those stupid lords and ladies that women could be knights. She was supposed to show them that little girls who wanted desperately to be a squires were not stupid nuisances to be laughed or yelled at. She was supposed to win so Arya Underfoot would get to see something she dreamed of. Brienne of Tarth was supposed to win.

 

When Arya reaches the Tarth pavilion she is half ready to yell at the woman. Tell her how she had believed in her and prayed for her and she had let her down. When she steps inside of the pavilion the words die in her throat. The maid of Tarth looks so sad, she looks like she could cry.

 

“Brienne…” Arya calls out tentatively, she has never been good at dealing with people’s sadness and feel out of her element.

 

“Arya,’ Brienne said looking up from the ground she had been staring out while her squire started taking off her armor, ‘I am sorry…I know you were hoping for me to win.”

 

She sounds so sad, so ashamed that any anger Arya had has long fled her. All she feels is a sort of shame for her anger and sympathy for her friend.

 

“There is nothing to be sorry for Brienne, you did splendidly.” Arya said.

 

“I lost.”

 

“Everyone does at some point, but what you did was very brave. I know very few women who would ever even dream of joining the lists. Besides you do not need to win a tourney to be a great knight.”

 

Brienne smiled softly at her, “I am sorry I did not fulfill your wish, though.”

 

“You did fulfill my wish, though. I got to see you ride in the lists and I met a knight who did not laugh at me for wanting to be one. You are someone to be admired, Brienne.”

 

Brienne blushed and nodded.

 

“Um, Brienne I wanted to ask if you would like to stay with us a bit longer. I should like to get to know you better, you know without a tourney happening. Besides I have not even been able to show you Needle yet.” Arya said, feeling somewhat bashful. What she said was true. She wanted to get to know Brienne for true. She wanted to get to know the woman as an actual person instead of a knight who could fulfill a childhood dream or someone who stepped out of a story. She wanted to know who Brienne truly was. She found she wanted to get to know the side of Brienne that blushes more, wanted to find out who she is without the armor and the dreams of glory, wanted to see who Brienne was outside of being a knight.

 

Brienne gave an actual, looking a little less sad, “I would like that.”

 

So Brienne stayed at High Garden for two more moons and when she left Arya could honestly call her friend. When she left Arya could honestly say that she liked Brienne of Tarth for who she was and not simply because she represented some fulfilled girlhood dream.


End file.
